


Again

by riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Time Travel, very basic season 10 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An expression passes over Constantine’s face like a shadow. Regret? Pity? Whatever it is, Dean doesn’t like it. And he sure as fuck doesn’t like this conversation. “Okay, you’re talking like a Time Lord. Cut it out or get a gut full of buckshot.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot written because I reached the 100$/month goal over on my [Patreon](http://www.patreon.com/riseofthefallenone). My wonderful Patrons were given a list of available ideas and they had the opportunity to vote on which one I would write. This is it! Though it’s actually been edited since I posted it earlier for them to read on Patreon. I didn’t realize there were so many errors oh my god I’m so sorry.
> 
> As a side note, all I know about season 10 is what I've seen on my Tumblr dash. I'm not able to do a week-by-week viewing. It's 10 seasons in one go or nothing at all. Therefore if there's anything wrong, consider it canon divergent or something. Also, for this I'm going with the belief that 2014 was just an amalgamation of Dean's worst nightmares brought to life by Zachariah and not actually him being thrown forward in time.
> 
> All in all, I just really hope that you enjoy this little one shot! Thanks again to my Patrons for supporting me, and thank you to all my readers for being as amazing as you all are. ♥

Without a doubt, Dean misses his family. He _always_ misses his mom and she’s been gone for over twenty years already. Missing her is a dull ache that will never go away. But the pain he feels being separated from Sam and his dad is fresher and has that extra _sting_ to it. Sam has been gone – what, two years now? Three? Dean tries not to count the days. Each one hurts just a little more than the last because Sam _left_. He completely abandoned Dean and Dad and their lifelong goal of taking down the bastard who killed their mom.

And, of course, Dean misses Dad too. At the moment it’s just to a lesser degree. Dad left a month ago to chase down some leads and for the first time in forever he’s letting Dean hunt solo. It’s fucking awesome to be _trusted_ enough for that, but Dean does kind of miss having his dad around. He felt the same whenever he and Sam were ditched at motels while they were growing up, but this isn’t exactly the same. Dean just feels – well, he feels lonely.

Maybe that’s why he’s being living it up so much in between the easy hunts he’s been doing. Or maybe that’s just him finally getting to be _himself_ for the first time in years. That answer feels a little more _right_ to him than that first one.

Ghosts are pretty easy to take care of when you know what you’re doing. They’re your basic run of the mill miscreant and Dean is plenty happy dealing with those. He might walk away with a couple bumps and bruises, but surviving is all he needs as a hunter. Surviving means he can go to the nearest pool hall without feeling guilty and spend the entire night there scamming guys at pool for spending money while cruising for some overnight entertainment. And without his dad around, Dean can let loose and actually relax for probably the first time in forever.

That’s really like the only good thing about his dad going off on his own. Dean can flirt with whoever he wants and Dad will never know. Normally, if his dad was standing at the pool table next to him, Dean would have to stomp down on his urge to flirt with the biker dude he’s playing against – even if he’s not really getting much of _the vibe_ from him. If Dad were here, Dean wouldn’t have any choice. He’d be limited to hitting on the female crowd. And as nice as they are, sometimes he’s in the mood for someone a little more _masculine_.

If there was a half decent guy here who looked interested in him, Dean would probably be heading back to the motel with him tonight. But he’s been on the lookout for hours and he’s just not seeing any guys who look interested in hooking up with another guy. Oh well. The pickings can’t always be as good as they were the other day. Besides, it’s good to mix it up. There’s nothing wrong with going back with a girl on his arm tonight. And his luck seems good in that department because there’s more than a few here tonight who have been giving him _all_ the right signals ever since he walked through the doors.

Dean stops thinking about his plans for the rest of the night long enough to line up a shot and miss. He doesn’t have any hard feelings since he did it on purpose. There are still plans in the works for leading this guy on. He’s been playing somewhere between not _great_ , but not too bad either. They’ve been playing all night and Dean has made sure that other guy has won more games than he’s lost. But they’ve been playing it _double or nothing_ style and right now Dean stands to win a hefty sum if he wins this game. He knows he is, but he doesn’t plan on winning until the other guy is certain he’s got it in the bag.

“I’m getting another beer. You want something?”

It’s only polite to make the offer to his opponent. Dean does want to lull him into a false sense of security, after all.Besides, Dean hasn’t been paying for his own drinks for the last hour or so. That would be why he’s seriously considering taking ‘ _home_ ’ the long haired brunette with the gorgeous curves and baby blues to die for currently sitting at the bar. She’s been putting the moves on him every time he’s gone up to get a drink _and_ she’s been paying for every one of them – even when Dean’s been ordering for his opponent. Either she’s being really friendly, or she’s not shy of making her intentions known.

He’s been aware of her eyes on him since she walked in and it sends a shiver down his spine. She more than fits the bill for Dean’s preferences and she’s been turning down other guys all night. Her sights are set on Dean and it’s giving him all sorts of pleasant chills. He likes that kind of attitude in women – and in men. That’s usually the attitude he looks for in partners; someone who knows what they want and does their best to get it. It’s _really_ appealing when someone has a take charge attitude and Dean is definitely seeing it in the brunette at the bar.

When he doesn’t get an answer from his opponent, Dean shrugs and heads to the bar. If the guy is more focused on figuring out what his next shot will be, then it’s his loss. The dude could’ve gotten another beer for free if he had Dean get it. He takes his pool cue with him to the bar and graces the pretty lady with a smile. If he’s going to be taking her back to the motel with him, he should probably get her name at some point.

She gives him a sly smile and tilts her head towards the pool table. “You’re going to win.”

“That’s the kind of news I like to hear.” Dean gives her a wink and gestures for another beer when the bartender looks his way.

“You’ve been playing him all night.” Well, at least she’s keeping her voice down. “The poor guy never stood a chance, did he?”

Either she’s a pool shark just like him, or she’s _really_ observant. Dean hasn’t got a clue, but he likes it. He leans in closer and smiles. “Don’t let him know or I’ll be out a solid grand.”

“My lips are sealed.” She makes the gesture across her mouth and follows it up with a decent chug of her own beer. When she puts that down on the bar, she gives Dean a saucy wink. “For a price.”

“Oh?” Dean raises his eyebrows. Hopefully she doesn’t mean that she wants a cut of his profits. This is going to be paying for his motel room when he ships out tomorrow and his meals for the next week. Not to mention gas for Baby.

A hand finds its way to Dean’s thigh and his answering grin is automatic. “ _Oh_.” Well that’s definitely something he can do. Hell, that’s something he was _hoping_ for. “Lemme just wrap up this game and I’ll pay that price all night long.”

Her smile grows and she gives Dean’s thigh a squeeze. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She slides a bill onto the counter when the bartender brings another beer over. “I’ve got you covered here. Go knock ‘em dead, tiger.”

Dean can barely keep the saunter out of his step as he returns to the pool table. He gets back just in time to see his opponent make his shot and sink one of the solids. Great. That leaves him three more balls before he can start aiming for the 8-ball. And that leaves Dean with five stripes left. He should be able to make the shots and win. All he has to do is sink them before the other guy does, and right now half the solids are blocked by Dean’s stripes.

“Nice shot.”

“I’m just getting started.”

Considering the game is going to be over in the next few minutes, that’s kind of exciting to hear. Dean always likes a challenge and this guy is good, but if everything before was him just joking around, then the best has yet to come. Too bad that Dean has a lovely lady waiting for him at the bar. If she wasn’t there, Dean would take this guy for all he’s got and then some.

“Good luck to me then.” Dean laughs and takes a swig of his beer. “This is going to be my last game.” If he wins, he gets double what the guy owes him. If he doesn’t, well, at least he’ll still walk away with a lovely lady on his arm.

“But the night’s just barely begun.” The guy glances at his watch before he makes his move and Dean has to do his best not to smile when all he does is knock a few stripes around.

He steps up to the table to make his own shot, already knowing exactly what he’s going to do. “I’ve got something a little more interesting than a pool game lined up right now, buddy. Even if I lose, I’m still gonna be a winner.” The cue ball ricochets off the edge of the table and love taps one of the stripes on its way, sending it straight into the side pocket. “That lovely lady at the bar is waiting for me and I don’t aim on making her wait much longer.”

His opponent whistles and Dean doesn’t bother looking up to check if it’s at the girl or the shot. In quick succession, he sinks another two balls and frees up the fourth to pocket it next round. It means the solids are available for the picking, but they’re both pretty damn close to the end of the table. Biker Dude is going to have to get them into a more desirable location if he wants to sink either of them on his next turn. Too bad for him that the game will be over before that.

Dean doesn’t waste a single shot. In two moves, his final two stripes are pocketed. His opponent is staring, jaw dropped, as Dean lines up the last one and sinks the 8-ball in the corner pocket. He steps away from the table and downs the last of his beer, pleased with himself. The other guy doesn’t look even remotely as happy as Dean feels. It’s no wonder since he’s about to be out an even thousand bucks. Good thing Dean made sure the guy had the money out of the bank machine before they started doubling up. _He_ doesn’t, but he also knows how to fake that he does. Plus, Dean knew going in that he wouldn’t be losing.

“Sorry, buddy.” He shrugs and lays his pool cue across the table. “That’s the game. The lovely lady must be my good luck charm.”

“Yeah, _right_.” Biker Dude looks like he’s about to start a fight, but all he does is pull out his wallet and throw several hundred dollar bills down on the table. He drops his cue next to Dean’s and stomps away, grumbling something about sharks.

So he _knew_ he was being scammed and he _still_ paid up? Damn, he’s a nice guy. Too bad he’s not giving off any bi-vibes, at the least. Dean wouldn’t mind taking him _and_ the lovely lady at the bar back to his motel room down the road. It’s because of the perfect placement of motel and bar that was the whole reason that Dean has been drinking as much as he has tonight. There’s no way he’d even _think_ of driving Baby with this many beers sloshing around in his belly.

“Looks like you smoked ‘em.” Bar Brunette comes up behind Dean and slings an arm over his shoulder while he gathers up and counts his cash. “Good job.”

“It was easier than it looked.” Dean laughs and tucks the bills away in his wallet. “And now that business is dealt with…” He turns to her with a smile and puts an arm around her waist. “What plans did you have in mind for tonight?”

She raises her eyebrows and leans into Dean’s side. “I’ve only got one thing in mind, tiger. You just need to worry about getting us to the nearest bed for the fun to get started.”

If possible, Dean’s smile gets even bigger. This is definitely his kind of woman. So far it looks like all she’s after is sex, and Dean is more than happy to be a willing – nay, _enthusiastic_ – participant. “Well, my luck just keeps rolling tonight. I’ve got a motel room down the road. How do you feel about walking?”

“Sounds like fun.” Bar Brunette turns and starts tugging Dean toward the door.

He doesn’t need much prompting to get moving. Their steps get a little faster the closer they get to the motel and by the time they hit the parking lot, Bar Brunette’s hands are fisted in Dean’s shirt and she’s busy with trying to suck one _hell_ of a hickey onto Dean’s throat. Either that or she’s trying to suck his soul out through his jugular. At this point, Dean doesn’t care. He’s doing his damnedest to keep them both on their feet and moving in the right direction.

They’re both laughing and stumbling against each other when they reach the room. Dean gets the door unlocked in record time and they both fall through the moment it’s opened. As soon as the door is closed, Dean starts shoving at the short little coat Bar Brunette is wearing over her shoulders. She tries doing the same thing, pushing at his leather jacket until it drops to the floor.

He’s itching for a kiss with every step that takes them further into the room, but Bar Brunette keeps moving back. She’s leading him towards the bed and that’s stupidly awesome in its own right, but Dean still wants to kiss. There’s a kind of intimacy he gets from kissing that he just doesn’t get from everything else that comes with nights like this. Honestly, he fucking _craves_ it. Dean wants to be kissed like he’s the only person in the world to his partner and it’s driving him crazy that she’s denying him that right now.

Bar Brunette strips Dean of all his shirts in record time and he half hopes that means she’s ready to kiss him. Maybe she was just waiting until there wouldn’t be anything that could interrupt it later? Or maybe she wants to explore other areas before they get to the kissing? She was super into his neck when they were walking, so it’s not a far cry to suspect that she might want at that again. Oh well. There’s always time for kissing later.

Dean collapses backward across the bed when Bar Brunette gives him a good push. She crawls after him, starting with pressing kisses to his stomach and moving up slowly but surely until she’s mouthing at his neck again and straddling his hips. He knew he wasn’t reaching when he guessed that she was the _take charge_ kind of lady. If she wants to dominate, Dean is plenty happy to let her. As long as he gets kisses later and he gets that feeling of being wanted and lo– Nope. _Wanted_ is good enough. As long as he gets that, Dean is satisfied. Speaking of – a name would be nice too. Anonymity is great every once in a while, but things don’t feel _intimate_ when he doesn’t know his partner’s name.

He runs a hand up Bar Brunette’s back, fingers catching in her shirt while she gets back to work on that hickey from earlier. “Hey.” When she doesn’t answer, Dean moves his hand into her hair. “ _Hey_.”

She lifts her head, irritation flashing across her face for a moment. “What?”

What was that all about? Dean raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question it. Maybe she just doesn’t like being interrupted. “Your name. I never got it.”

A smile tilts her lips and she leans down again, close enough for a kiss but still just a little too far away for it. “Don’t worry about it, Dean.”

For a split second, the lights flicker and Dean doesn’t think twice about it. Old motels always have shitty electricity. Somewhere at the head of the bed, the clock radio starts making a static-y kind of sound. He’d be concerned about that if his brain wasn’t currently focusing on something that’s pretty damn disturbing in its own right.

Before Dean can ask how she knows his name, there’s a polite knock at the door. Bar Brunette glances over her shoulder with a frown and Dean props himself up on his elbows to look. The knock doesn’t come a second time. Instead, the whole fucking door just decides to fall right off its hinges. Or rather, it gets _punched_ off its hinges. Dean’s heart skips a few beats and then heads straight into triple time.

For one horrible moment, he thinks it’s his dad. Of course it’s not, because Dad has never _punched_ a door down. Kicked one open, maybe, but it was still attached to its hinges afterward. If it really was Dad, then he’d be pissed as all hell that Dean is picking up girls instead of moving on to the next job. He’s not sure if he should be happy or not that it’s not his dad who walks into the room like he didn’t just pull a move right out of a comic book.

Actually, the guy could probably _be_ a comic book character. He reminds Dean a lot of Constantine with his dark, messy hair and the trench coat. And he’s got the super hero glare of doom down to a squinty-eyed _tee_. It’s the kind of glare that could turn fire to ice and Dean is definitely frozen in place by it. Some strange guy just busted down his motel door and Dean _needs_ to react. He’s been trained by one of the best in the business, but there’s a static charge to the air that’s making Dean hold back from reaching for the shotgun stored under the bed.

Bar Brunette gasps and she’s on her feet, reacting where Dean isn’t. More than that, she’s actually _hissing_ at this new Constantine wannabe. Does she know him? It feels like they might, what with the way she’s reacting and how he’s completely fixed on her. Oh God. Please don’t tell Dean that he stumbled smack dab into the middle of a couple witches having a relationship tiff. It’s never happened before, but there’s a first time for everything, right?

Constantine takes a step forward, and his squint increases in intensity – if physically possible. “What makes you _demons_ think going back in time and taking Dean earlier than planned would actually manage to change anything?”

Wait, what did he just say? Dean sits up fully, already starting to inch his hand toward the edge of the bed. If he’s lucky, he can tuck and roll and grab the shotgun in the same motion. Rock salt won’t kill either of them, but it’ll hurt like a bitch if they get clipped – not that they know that’s what’s packed in the shells. The sight of a shotgun might even be enough to make the two of them calm the hell down. Or it might be enough to piss them off and hex the shit out of him. Who the fuck knows because _demons_ don’t exist, right?

Bar Brunette actually has the stones to _laugh_ right now. “You wouldn’t be here if we hadn’t changed _something_.” She gestures at Dean with a violent motion. “Offing him will set things in motion _ages_ before you feathered freaks can do anything about it. I do this and everything will happen as it was _supposed to_.”

“Hold the fuck up.” Dean grabs the shotgun and is on his feet in moments. This conversation took a turn somewhere that he doesn’t like and now he’s got _questions_ , dammit. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

It shouldn’t come as surprise that neither of them is paying any attention to him right now. Constantine doesn’t even spare him a glance before he’s crossing the room in quick strides. Bar Brunette reels back and her eye – her _whole fucking eye_ – turns black. Both of them do. No whites, no baby blues. Nothing but _black_ and it chills Dean right down to his bones. On instinct, he raises the shot gun and points it at her. She’s not human and he’s never heard of any witch that can do _that_.

Apparently it doesn’t matter. Constantine doesn’t give a shit either way. When she opens her mouth – to scream, to speak, who the fuck knows anymore – he slaps a hand over it. Maybe it’s a trick of the flickering lights, but Dean thinks he catches a flare of light nestled in Constantine’s palm.

“It didn’t work because _I am here_.” He growls, his other hand closing over Bar Brunette’s shoulder as he forces her to her knees. “I will _always_ be here. There is nothing you can do to Dean’s timeline that I will not know about.” She grabs his wrists and pulls at them, but Constantine isn’t budging. “What has already happened will happen again. No matter what you try, time cannot be rewritten. I will make certain of that.”

The black of Bar Brunette’s eyes flashes white. That same light crawls like white fire under her skin. There’s no scream and no sound. Only the sight of light pouring out of her eyes and nose and shining under Constantine’s hand like he’s the source of it. When the light show is done, all that’s left is the smell of burnt flesh and a corpse, eye sockets burned black. Constantine lets her body drop and _that’s_ when he turns to face Dean. It’s also about the same time as when Dean remembers how to breathe.

“What the _fuck_ –?” He breathes the words, not sure if he’s able to speak any louder.

Dean isn’t expecting a _laugh_ to be his answer. It’s not much of a laugh, actually. More like a little huff of air and a smile that kind of lifts one corner of Constantine’s mouth. His eyes are lingering on the shotgun and it’s giving Dean the impression that it’s not going to have much of an effect on this guy. Whatever he just did, it’s not any kind of witchcraft Dean’s ever heard of.

If he heard and understood things correctly, it sounds like Constantine is here to _protect_ him. That doesn’t make Dean lower the shotgun any, but it does make him feel slightly less afraid – if not still confused as hell. “Did you just _laugh_ at me?”

Constantine shakes his head, but the half-smile stays fixed in place. “I’m sorry, Dean. It is just a moment of déjà vu.” After a pause, he tilts his head and turns the full force of that squint on him. There’s something about it that gives Dean the sense that he’s being stared _through_ and not _at_. “And I did not expect you to be so – _young_.”

Great. So apparently he’s going to be one of those guys who only makes Dean feel _more_ confused instead of actually clearing things up. “You just killed someone and I’m aiming a shotgun at you, and you’re choosing _now_ as a time to laugh at my face? Are you touched in the head or something, dude?”

“No, I am not.” He shakes his head again and half turns to look back at the corpse. “I did not kill a person. I killed a _demon_ possessing the shell of a person. The soul who lived in that body prior to possession has moved on.”

Yeah, okay. There’s just one problem with that. “Demons don’t exist.”

“I assure you, they do.” Constantine says it so matter of fact-like, and with a shrug to boot, that Dean can’t help but feel like he should be believing him right now. But that doesn’t leave him feeling any less confused then when the motel door was smashed in.

“You need to explain this shit.” He lifts the shotgun, hoping that it will be enough to scare the guy into telling the truth. “Talk or you’re not going to like what happens next.”

Sighing, Constantine fixes Dean with the weary kind of expression someone gives when they’ve tried explaining quantum physics and the five year old they’re talking to just isn’t getting it. “If I don’t talk, you’re going to shoot me in the chest with the rock salt currently loaded into that shotgun. In my current condition, it will sting, but it will not do much more.”

He pauses again and that dumb half-smile slides back in place. “You’ll learn that lesson the day you decide to put a blade in my chest.”

Riddles. That’s all this guy talks in. Fucking _riddles_. If anything, Dean is now _more_ confused than when they started. And to top it all off, Constantine has the sheer audacity to actually look _amused_. That’s just grinding on Dean’s gears like nothing else. If he doesn’t start getting actual understandable answers soon, someone is going to be leaving this room with a bullet lodged in their head and it’s damn well not going to be him.

*

This was not at all what Castiel had intended. When the demons had done the complicated ritual to send one of them back in time, he had just barely been able to sense it with his fading grace. The spell is powerful enough that any supernatural being, angels and demons included, would have felt it like the blast wave following a bomb. As soon as he realized what it was, Castiel had left Dean and Sam at the bunker without telling them what was truly happening. He didn’t want to worry either of them any more than the Mark of Cain and its effects already have.

So much time had been wasted with not only finding the site of the spell, but with wringing what the demons were doing out of those that were still left behind. Castiel’s waning grace didn’t have the strength in it to carry him back through time on his own. But given his location, he had all the materials on hand and a few demons to use as the needed sacrifice. Doing the spell again and returning to the past had been an easier task than finding this Dean was. And it’s just a stroke of luck that he managed to get here in time.

When he came in to stop the demon, Castiel had planned to interact as little as possible with Dean. He didn’t want there to be too many memories that he would need to erase when he was done. Exorcising the demon and the unnecessary display he had made when he came into the room has weakened him. He doesn’t have much grace left to waste on that. There still needs to be enough for him to gather the necessary ingredients to use the spell again to return to his own time period too.

But there is one thing that he hadn’t expected to trip him up. It’s the one thing that has him still standing in this room. Castiel made the mistake of underestimating the effect that Dean Winchester has on him. In this case, he underestimated Dean’s soul.

As interesting as it is to see Dean younger by more than a decade, it’s the difference in his _soul_ that has caught Castiel’s attention. What he wouldn’t give to be able to see it with the full power of his grace flowing through him. It’s a blessing that the twisted, decaying, stolen grace he carries now gives him just enough to see the beautiful burning light of Dean’s soul when it is _whole_. All he’s ever known – all he’s ever _seen_ – of Dean’s grace is what tattered remains were from hell and stitched back together with Castiel’s own hands.

Dean’s soul is so pure, so _perfect_ , that Castiel wants to stay and look longer. He wants to stand by the heat of it and soak up what he can through the thick veil cast by his dying grace. Seeing a soul as beautiful as Dean’s when it was whole only adds to the love Castiel has for him. There was never any doubt in his mind that Dean’s soul would have been a sight to behold before it was tainted by Hell.

His selfish desires are keeping him here longer than he should be. Castiel should use what parts of his grace he can spare to clean Dean’s mind of these last few moments before he leaves. What he _shouldn’t_ do is make vague hints about the future that only serve to confuse and fluster Dean.

But Castiel can’t help himself.

*

“I know that look, Dean. You don’t trust me.” Constantine keeps talking in a low rumble that must be shredded his vocal chords.

He takes a step forward and Dean forces himself to hold his ground. “Don’t. Move.” His finger twitches from the stock of the shotgun down to the trigger. “Stop talking like you know me. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“Of course you haven’t.” The fact that he _still_ sounds amused is driving Dean up the wall. “You still have a ways to go before that happens.”

An expression passes over Constantine’s face like a shadow. Regret? Pity? Whatever it is, Dean doesn’t like it. And he sure as fuck doesn’t like this conversation. “Okay, you’re talking like a Time Lord. Cut it out or get a gut full of buckshot.”

“You don’t use buckshot and I didn’t travel here by use of a TARDIS.” Constantine shakes his head and gestures at the shotgun. “You use rock salt, as I stated before. It hurts what you hunt more than buckshot ever could.”

Dean groans and lowers the shotgun. He didn’t actually expect Constantine to get the reference. It’s hard to shake the feeling that this guy isn’t human enough to be understanding things like that. But the things he’s saying are _way_ more worrying than that. And it sure as hell isn’t helping matters that Dean isn’t exactly getting a bad guykind of feeling from him. Weird? Yes. Kind of hot in an entirely inappropriate and shouldn’t-be-thinking-about-that-in-this-kind-of-situation way? Absolutely. But an honest to goodness _bad guy_? No, not really.

Just because he’s got the shotgun aimed at the ground doesn’t mean that he’s going to take his finger off the trigger. There’s still a stranger who is most definitely _not human_ standing in his motel room. Dean might be pretty damn close to being drunk, but he’s not far enough along to drop his guard completely. Especially when he’s having a hell of a lot of trouble actually believing all the blatant hints that Constantine keeps dropping.

“Okay, E.T.” Dean narrows his eyes because two can definitely play at the squinting game. “Let me get this straight. You’re from the future and you know future me?”

Constantine only blinks at him. He doesn’t nod or shake his head or do anything but breathe and blink. Is he _purposefully_ trying to push all of Dean’s buttons here? Seriously, how hard is it to answer a fucking ques– Oh shit. That’s right. First rule of time travel is never admit that you’re a time traveller. It just confuses people and being confused makes people angry and that’s how the Salem witch hunts happen. That might not be truth, but it’s a theory Dean’s going to run with for as long as he wants to.

Goddammit. Now he needs to be sneaky about this. Somehow he’s going to need to trick Constantine into answering the question without actually asking it.

“Yes.”

Dean whiplashes from his muddy swirl of planning and right back into reality. “What?”

“Yes, we know each other in the future.” Constantine nods slightly and turns to the door. It’s still laying on the ground by the entrance and there’s still a sizeable dent in it. They’re lucky it didn’t snap right in half with the force of the punch.

Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth? Apparently this guy doesn’t know a damn thing about science fiction time travel laws. Because that right there was not a thing that you’re supposed to be doing. There’s still the whole thing where Dean’s not supposed to be trusting this guy, even if he just saved his ass from a demon. But, seriously, what is Dean suppose to do? Demons are apparently real and this guy came from the _future_ to save him.

While Constantine picks the door up and tries shoving it back into place, Dean runs over all the other questions he wants to ask. How does this guy know him? When do they meet? What is he involved in that makes demons want to come back in time to _off_ him? How did they even do that? Other questions involve learning Constantine’s real name and maybe even finding out what the hell he is. Because he sure as fuck isn’t _human_.

The door can’t be fixed and Constantine leaves it leaning more or less in place. Hopefully the motel manager doesn’t see it before Dean can get the hell out of here. Luckily, he used a fake ID and a fake credit card, just like dad taught him. So, really, Dean needs to get these questions out of the way and then he needs to get the hell out of here. Plus, there’s that whole dead body on the rug that needs to be dealt with before someone sees it.

Shirts. Dean should probably put his shirts back on. It’s not doing either of them any good to have him standing around without any and he tries to look for them without taking his eyes off his unexpected guest. “In the future, how do you know me? Are we friends? Enemies? Do we work together?”

“All of the above.” Constantine shrugs and turns around to stare at the demon’s body. “And then some.” He must decide to ignore it for now, because he turns to Dean next. “I’m your lover.”

Is it completely weird that Dean drops the shotgun? It doesn’t go far because it just ends up on the bed, but he drops it anyways. _Lover_. Is he _dating_ something supernatural? Holy shit. Dad is going to kill him. How the hell did he get away with doing that? Dad would shit himself. Honestly, it’s such a funny and _unbelievable_ thing that Dean laughs. It’s a small, dry, humourless chuckle because it’s not true. Dean might like guys too, but he could never _date_ one.

Laughing might not have been the best thing to do. As soon as Dean does it, any trace of being amused slips right off of Constantine’s face. “Believe what you will, Dean, but we _are_ lovers – even though it might not be in the conventional sense that you know.”

Bullshit. He shakes his head and reaches for the gun again. “I don’t believe you. I don’t date guys.” Sleeping with them is an entirely different matter.

Constantine sighs and Dean hopes he imagines the little flash of hurt before disappointment takes the place of anything else. Even his shoulders slump a little. “I am well aware that you don’t _date_ guys. That is an aspect of your upbringing you have yet to overcome. But I assure you that I speak the truth.”

Dean can’t stop shaking his head. “Whatever you’re trying to explain, dude, I’m not getting it.” Or maybe he just doesn’t want to believe it. If he accepts what Constantine is telling him, then that raises a whole shitload of other questions. And some of them are questions Dean doesn’t want to stop to think about because it kind of scares him.

After a long silence, Constantine stops looking disappointed and starts looking sad. “We have never touched one another beyond a hug. We have never kissed.” His hands slowly curl into fists and his jaw clenches for a moment when he meets Dean’s eyes. “And we have never said _I love you_.”

That’s pretty much covers every definition of what the word ‘ _lovers_ ’ means, to Dean’s knowledge. He frowns. “If we’ve never done any of that, then why did you say –?”

“We are lovers.” Constantine says it again and he sounds so sure about it that Dean almost starts doubting everything else he just said.

 _Almost_. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but we’re not.” He sighs and glances around for his shirts again.

“We _are_.” That surety isn’t leaving his voice, even when Dean isn’t looking directly at him. “You say it every time you look at me. You tell me with every action you make and every smile you give. I don’t need to hear you say the words to know how you feel for me.”

Yeah, okay. Because that totally makes sense. Now Dean is starting to think that Constantine might be a bit of a supernatural stalker and whatever warming up to him Dean had before is quickly starting to dry up. “I think you’re reading into things a little too much there, dude.”

*

Castiel didn’t really expect this younger Dean to believe him, but having him outright deny these claims is more painful than he thought it would be. These are things he never would have been able to say to the Dean of his time. It might be cowardly of him, but as soon as it occurred to Castiel that he could say everything now that he can’t in his timeline, he wanted to take advantage of that. Dean won’t remember this conversation later, so why shouldn’t he use it to his advantage and say what he has always wanted to say to him?

Having that face and that voice tell him that he’s _imagining things_ is annoying beyond all reason. It shouldn’t matter that this Dean doesn’t believe him, but having _any_ Dean refuse what Castiel knows to be true is frustrating. Anger is forming a pulsing, searing lump in his chest and all he wants in this moment now is do what he can to convince Dean that it’s true.

He might never have the chance to tell the Dean of his time. If he ever does, it might come at a time that could be too late. That is not a risk he is willing to take. With the life they lead, staying here a little while longer is far less of a problem. There is too much going on with the Mark of Cain and Castiel’s dying grace for him to bring attention to this now. It will only be another thing for Dean to worry about and he doesn’t need it.

But _this_ Dean is so much more carefree. He can hear it now and forget a few moments later that Castiel was even here. But when it’s said, Castiel wants Dean to know that it’s true. He wants to have the weight of the words Dean has said, the looks he’s given, and the lingering touches shared to _mean_ something to the both of them when he says what he’s wanted to for so long. If he can do that, his grace be damned, then maybe it will feel more like he’s telling the Dean he knows.

*

Dean nearly has a heart attack when Constantine is suddenly right in front of him. He reels back and reaches for the shotgun, but he’s too slow. There’s an iron grip on his wrist and the other hand is pressing two fingers against Dean’s forehead. What’s about to happen? Was it all a lie? Is he going to kill him now because he doesn’t believe him? Supernatural time travelling stalkers just _cannot_ be trusted. Ever. That’s fact now and Dean will spread it like wild fire if he survives this.

The last thing Dean really expected was something along the lines of a fucking _Vulcan Mind Meld_. Memories that aren’t his own flood into his head and it sends him reeling. He can barely stay standing on his feet when he’s assaulted with moments between Constantine and someone who looks a _hell_ of a lot like Dean. It’s him. That’s what he’s going to look like in the future. If he wasn’t in the process of trying to understand everything pouring into his head right now, he would stop to appreciate that even however many years down the road this is, he still looks damn good.

Constantine – no. His name is Castiel. _Cas_. The him in the future gave him the name. Dean knows all about it now. From hell to heaven to purgatory and humanity. Tablets and crypts. Angels falling and dying. Everything is in his head now and it’s all seen through Cas’s eyes. From behind those baby blues that once belonged to a guy named Jimmy, Dean saw the way he’s going to lookat Cas. The laughs and the smiles and everything else in between. He’s never seen what he looks like when he’s in love, but he knows what a person looks like when they are.

It scares him.

He slaps Cas’s hand away and stumbles back. Immediately, Cas drops his wrist and does nothing to stop him from taking another few steps. “Don’t you _ever_ mess with my mind again.”

“I didn’t, and I won’t.” Cas’s speaks slowly and cautiously, like he’s dealing with a wild animal. “I didn’t do anything to your mind, Dean. All I did was share with you my own experiences.”

“Yeah, but you had to shove that shit into my _head_.” Dean gestures violently. His panic levels are starting to rise and he’s feeling cornered.

At some point in the future, and he doesn’t exactly know when, he’s going to meet Cas. Somewhere down the line, he’s going to fall in love with him. Dean had that once and then it was gone and the idea of having it again scares him. What if Sammy doesn’t accept it? What about Dad? Cas isn’t just a man. He’s a fucking _angel_ – as if that isn’t hard enough to wrap his head around as it is.

Cas shakes his head slowly and takes a step forward, reaching out to him. “I promise you, Dean –” He stops and drops his hand when he realizes what he’s doing. “I would never intentionally do anything that would directly harm you.”

There’s evidence in Dean’s head that says otherwise. “Except that one part where you apparently beat the shit out of me.”

It should probably say something that Cas at least has the decency to wince. “I was not in control of myself then.” His eyes drop to his hand and he curls them into fists. “I had been forced to kill hundreds of copies of you in preparation for the real thing, but when it came time for it – I couldn’t. I was fighting against it but it was _you_ –” Cas looks up at him, eyes wide and hurt and hopeful. “You were the one who broke heaven’s control over me.”

“How?” Dean knows what Cas saw and heard throughout all the memories, but he doesn’t know what Cas thought or felt during it all.

That small smile curves Cas’s lips again, but this time it’s less amused and a little more on the fond side. “You called me family. You said you needed me.” He closes his eyes and drops his hands again. “You loved me and I didn’t need you to say the words to hear what your soul screams.”

Dean is shaking. He can feel it as a tremor in his fingers and he has to clench them into a fist to make them stop. His heart is going a mile a minute and it feels like it’s going to pop right out of his chest at any moment now. He doesn’t know if it’s adrenaline or fear or – or even fucking _hope_. Everything inside of him is all messed up now. In the span of a few minutes, his whole world has been turned upside down and he’s not sure if he wants to make sense of any of it.

“I don’t believe you.”

Cas sighs and his shoulder slump slightly. “I’m not asking you to.” He doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes and there’s something kind of heart breaking about it.

“Then why are you telling me this?” Dean takes a step forward and stops himself from moving any closer. He has to know what this is all about. What is Cas’s end game with being here and saying this? He could have been gone by now but he’s _not_. He’s still here and that has to mean _something_. “Why did you show me that?”

After a deep breath and a pause longer than it has any right being, Cas finally answers – even if he’s basically saying it to Dean’s feet. “Because I’ve never told you, and I want to. I _need_ to.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry and he swallows thickly. He has a feeling that he knows what Cas is about to say and he doesn’t know what to do. A part of him doesn’t want to hear it. Why should he? Dean doesn’t know this guy. Having Cas’s memories of him isn’t even close to being the same as having his future self’s memories of Cas. Hell, Dean doesn’t even know what Cas has done that gets future-Dean to look at him like that.

But that’s only a small part of him. There’s another part – a much, much, _much_ bigger part – that wants to hear what Cas has to say.

He licks his lips and chokes out a question. “Tell me what?”

“When I leave, you won’t remember this moment.” Cas looks up, but only to stare at Dean’s left shoulder. “Even so, I want to tell you just this once.”

His next breath gets caught in his chest, trapped in the whirlwind that’s making his heart spin. He barely manages to ask his question again. “Tell me _what_?”

Dean wants to wince at his question. Even to his own ear he sounds like a pathetic child. His voice is small and quiet and _scared_. Maybe that’s why Cas’s eyes soften when he looks at him. Maybe that’s why his voice is gentle and warm and it seeps into the cracks in Dean. And maybe those are just a few of the reasons why Dean doesn’t move when Cas takes another step forward. When Cas lifts his hand and reaches towards his face again, a part of Dean curls up tight and gets ready to strike – but it’s only a very small part of him.

He’s not afraid of Cas anymore. Not really. It’s what he’s going to _say_ that terrifies him.

Cas drifts his palm across Dean’s cheek in a tender touch – the kind of touch he would never get from a half-drunk one night stand. “I want to tell you just this once, Dean Winchester, that through heaven, hell, and purgatory, I will follow you.” His thumb brushes Dean’s skin and he has to fight not to close his eyes and lean into it. “I will choose you over everything. Every. Time.”

God, he’s burning alive. No one has ever looked at Dean like Cas is looking at him right now with so much care in his eyes. Either Cas is a _really_ good actor, or he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve and he means everything he says. Honestly, Dean is more inclined to believe that than believe that Cas is lying to him. Not because this is something he wants to hear – even if it scares the pants off of him because he _does_ – but because they share something.

Whether it’s now or in the future, they’ve got a profound bond. They’re connected in ways Dean can’t even comprehend right now, but he still wants to be a part of it. He wants what he hasn’t had and what he won’t have for a long time – what he won’t have until Cas comes into his life again. Even if it’s just for this terrifying moment, Dean wants to hear it and know that somewhere down the line, he might be able to have _this_ even if it’s with an angel in the body of a man.

He swallows again, trying to dampen his dry throat and tongue, but his voice still comes out in a croak as he asks a one worded and heavy question. “Why?” Why would he do that because of him? Why would he do that _for_ him? They’re questions that Dean is pretty sure he already knows the answer to, but he needs to hear it from Cas anyways.

Cas’s smile is just as soft as his touch. “Because I love you.”

There’s so much conviction in these four simple words that Dean’s knees nearly go weak. When Cas says it, it sounds true. It sounds like he _means_ it and Dean believes him. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do to make a fucking _angel_ fall in love with him, but it happened. It had to have happened. It _will_ happen. This otherworldly being is going to fall in love with the cracking, breaking, imperfect human being that Dean is. And he knows, without a doubt, that no matter when or where Cas says it; no matter which version of Dean he says it to; this is something Cas would never lie about. _This_ is the truth.

And he hasn’t heard it enough.

His body moves without his permission and Dean folds one of his hands in the fabric of Cas’s trench coat. He’s just grabbing the hem of it where it hangs open down his front, but he holds on for dear life – especially when Cas takes a step back. No, he can’t leave yet. He _can’t_.

“Again.” Dean whispers and tugs at Cas’s coat, trying to bring him as close as he was before – if not a little closer. “Say it again.”

All Cas does is tilt his head. Both his eyebrows twitch up in surprise, or curiosity, or who knows how angels even make facial expressions and what they actually mean. But he’s just staring at Dean without blinking, and it’s making Dean feel a little like he’s under the microscope. How much does Cas actually know about him? Does Cas even know how long it’s been since someone – since _anyone_ – has told him that they love him?

God, Dean can’t even remember the last time. It wasn’t Sam and it sure as hell wasn’t Dad. Maybe it was Cassie? He doesn’t fucking know. What he _does_ know is that going to the bar and picking up a stranger is the closest thing to physical affection that he can get in his line of work. Dean knows that not-so-deep down, he wants to be loved. He wants more than what he gets from kissing and fucking a stranger. And he knows that’s not something he can have. Not with the job he has to carry out.

But here’s this guy – this _angel_ that Dean doesn’t even really know. Here’s Cas and he says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He says it like he means it and Dean can’t do anything but believe it. He believes it because no matter how hard he tries to hide it, he knows that he desperately wants everything that Cas is offering. Dean wants it even if Cas means it for the future him because he needs to know that someone, somewhere, some day – _someone_ will eventually love him.

Finally, Cas’s smile slips back into place. If anything, it actually _grows_ as he brings his other hand up to touch Dean’s other cheek too. “I love you.”

A shiver races down Dean’s spine and, against his better judgement, he closes his eyes. “Again.”

Cas steps close enough for Dean to fist his other hand in his shirt. His voice drops into a rough whisper. “I love you, Dean.”

He leans into the hands cupping his face, pressing into their sure grip. Dean tries not to wonder just how often he’s going to rely on these hands in the future. “Again.”

This is selfish and probably wrong on more levels than Dean cares to count, but he wants to hear it. He wants to be told and reassured that the future won’t be as lonely as his present feels. What he wants is to hear someone tell him this and sound like they mean it. Cas is doing that and Dean is going to keep a hold of it for as long as he fucking can.

“I love you.” Cas murmurs and he leans in too until their foreheads bump together.

It’s the closest he’s been and Dean can actually feel his breath on his face. It sets off all sorts of thoughts and new wants inside of him. The shiver skating along his spine spreads out across his skin and Dean sucks in a sharp breath. He was all set to sleep with a woman he didn’t know with a name he never even learned. Would it really be that bad if he wants to do the same with Cas? Dean knows more about him than he did Bar Brunette – not for lack of trying. She was just out for something a little more morbid than what his goals for the evening were.

Tonight, Dean just wanted intimacy. He wanted to feel like he wasn’t alone. And Cas is doing a damn good job of it.

“Hey, Cas?” There’s a lump in his throat and Dean chokes it down.

Another soft breath puffs against his face and it smells like coffee and toothpaste and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and stardust. It’s more comforting than it has any right being. “Yes, Dean?”

This is just another question and Dean can ask it just like he’s asked all the others. “Have you ever –” It gets stuck in his throat and he has to swallow thickly before he can get it out properly. “Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”

Cas’s forehead rubs against his own when he nods. “More times than you will ever know.”

Dean’s heart triples in speed and it’s for entirely different reasons than it was before. If he could blame it on the alcohol, he would, but there’s no way that Dean is anywhere _near_ drunk enough to explain away what he says next. “If – if you want – um – you can kiss me _now_ , y’know?”

He’s scared to look when Cas pulls back. This isn’t something he should be offering or asking for. But once – just once – Dean wants to be kissed by someone who actually _loves_ him. Because this is someone who has seen him at his best and at his worst. Dean doesn’t need his own memories to know how true that is. Cas knows what kind of person he is and what he does for a living, and despite all that, he still loves him for it.

Worried that Cas might turn him down and pull away, Dean needs to see what his expression is now. Slowly, he cracks his eyes open and immediately he’s relieved. Cas doesn’t look upset. Instead, he looks surprised and not just a little intrigued. His smile is still fixed in place and his gaze is still setting Dean’s insides on fucking _fire_.

“Do _you_ want me to kiss you, Dean?”

It’s getting really hard to look Cas in the eyes and Dean has to look away. He ends up glancing down at his hands and where they’re still fisted in Cas’s shirt and coat. “You’re gonna make me forget, aren’t you?” He tightens his grip and tries not to shift uncomfortably on his feet. “I mean – I’m not going to remember this, am I?”

“I’m afraid not.” One of Cas’s hands slides down to rest against the side of Dean’s neck and he rubs his thumb against his jaw. “Allowing you to remember would alter the flow of history.”

Well, that’s a given. Obviously. “Y-yeah, okay.” He figured that was the case, but he nods anyways.

In the end, it’s not going to matter. Dean won’t remember a kiss and he sure as hell won’t remember this person who loves him. Oh God, it’s still hard to get over the fact that Cas actually _loves_ him – and maybe – maybe he’s right and Dean will love him in the future too. If that happens, and Dean kind of hopes that it will, he knows that he’s going to want to kiss Cas at that time. He’s not sure why the future him hasn’t told Cas how he feels yet, but he’s got to have his reasons. But in that case, wouldn’t it be nice to have already had it, even if he doesn’t remember it?

Besides... “You’ll remember it, right?” Dean looks up again and leans into the hand Cas still has on his cheek. He wants to love and be loved and Cas is someone who loves him and will be loved by him, even if they never act on it or speak of it. If he can’t carry the memory of this, then he wants Cas to have it. He _did_ just save Dean’s life, after all.

Cas nods slowly. “Yes.”

That seals the deal for Dean. He was going to kiss a demon tonight, so why the hell shouldn’t he kiss an _angel_ instead? A kiss is the least he can do for what Cas did for him tonight, and for everything he’s going to do for him in the future. Cas is going to be going back to a Dean who doesn’t know he loves him – or maybe he does know? Dean won’t know until he grows up to be him. And even then, he won’t remember because Cas is going to do something to take these memories.

Which means he won’t have anything to regret if he does it now.

“Kiss me.”

*

Castiel doesn’t need any more prompting than that. This is more than he had ever hoped for and he can’t bring himself to care about the moral qualms bubbling in his chest. Dean is offering this to him now of his own free will. He is exerting what they fought so hard to have during the apocalypse and it would be rude to refuse him now.

And how could he ever ignore that longing? Without knowing it, Dean has been calling for Castiel for years in their proper timeline. He knew it would only upset Dean and embarrass him, so he has never made mention of it, but he has come to cherish the pull of Dean’s desire to have him near. But right now, the pull is stronger than he has ever felt it before. It feels almost as if Dean’s very soul is _screaming_ at him; calling _for_ him.

This Dean wants what Castiel can give him so desperately that his entire being is begging for him. They met not more than a handful of minutes ago and Dean barely even knows who Castiel is, but still he wants him. No matter the time, no matter the where, _Dean wants him_. That knowledge heats Castiel from his core better than any grace he’s ever held before and there really is only one thing that he can do in this moment.

*

Cas kisses him. With how chapped his lips looked, Dean really didn’t expect for them to be so soft. And he _really_ didn’t expect for Cas to kiss him so gently. It’s a small, tender little gesture and it has him fucking melting. He’s not going to say that his knees buckled or anything, but in the span of those few seconds where Cas kissed him, Dean definitely ended up leaning into him and his arms somehow moved to wrap around his shoulders – purely of their own will, of course. Dean can’t remember authorizing that particular movement.

But there’s a taste on Cas’s lips that Dean can’t get enough of. He’s never had a kiss that has warmed him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. There’s never been a kiss that’s tingled through him like this. It feels like it’s spanning years and maybe – just maybe – the Dean of the future is able to feel this kiss too. Maybe the him in the future will somehow know what it feels like to be kissed by someone who truly loves him.

Frankly, the kiss is over too damn soon for Dean’s liking. He also doesn’t like the soft whine that escapes him when Cas puts his hands on his shoulders and moves him back until there’s a good foot of distance between them at least. Cas is just lucky that he’s cute when he smiles. Otherwise, Dean would be pretty upset with the kiss being over. There were no tongues and it was pretty damn innocent, but his toes still curled in his socks and Dean would trade a whole night of sex with a stranger for another kiss like that.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas murmurs, and he sounds like he means it. And he sounds like he didn’t want it to end anymore than Dean did.

Well, good thing there’s a way to fix that.

Dean tightens what little grip he has around Cas’s shoulders. “Again.”

There’s a quiet little gasp that wouldn’t be noticeable if Dean wasn’t standing so close. “Dean...”

How pathetic is he? Here he is, clutching at a guy he barely knows just for a few scraps of a feeling that he isn’t even really the recipient of. Cas loves the future Dean. He loves the guy who did whatever it was that Dean will hopefully still do in the future that will make Cas love him too. Right now, Cas is only saying what he feels to a similar face and kissing similar lips, and then he’s going to leave. He’s going to leave and he’ll take Dean’s memories of this with him.

Does Cas even know how much he’s going to be taking from Dean when he does that? It’s not just memories Dean is going to be losing. Cas will take from him this feeling too – this feeling of being _loved_. And Dean wants it as much as he can get it for right now. He wants to remember it for as many seconds as he’s allowed before it’s gone. No matter what it takes, Dean wants this to last for as long as he can fucking make it.

“Again.” He repeats. Maybe he just needs to ask a little nicer? “Please...?”

That must’ve been the key, because Cas kind of just _surges_ forward. The kiss is a bit rougher than before with a hint of desperation to it that makes Dean’s heart break. How long has he been wanting this without asking future Dean for it? But with a kiss like this, Dean doesn’t dwell on it for too long. It’s hard to think when Cas is holding his face a little tighter and kissing harder – even if it’s still pretty chaste by Dean’s standards.

When Cas pulls back again, it’s only to breathe. He still stays close, with his forehead pressed against Dean’s. “You don’t even know me, but still your soul is calling me.” One of his hands slides into Dean’s hair and he cards his fingers through it. “It’s always pulling me back to you.”

Dean doesn’t even know what that means, but he’s not going to question it. Cas is apparently a being that Dean doesn’t even really believe exists. And he _loves_ him. How fucking amazing is that? How many people can claim that an honest to God _angel_ is in love with them? Fucking no one, that’s who.

He makes a soft noise in his throat and his hands drop to Cas’s hips, trying to bring him closer. If the _kisses_ feel this good, what would it be like to have all that love pressed up against him completely? Dean wants to try it. God, he wants to get as close as he fucking can to Cas before everything is stolen from him completely. “Again.”

Cas doesn’t hesitate this time. He presses forward again and it’s hard enough to drive Dean back a step. Maybe it’s the beers he drank, or maybe it’s the overwhelming feeling of being _loved_ for the first time in forever, but Dean stumbles with taking that step back. Right away, Cas’s hands move to his sides to keep him steady and Dean brings his back up. They were doing a better job of holding Cas in place when they were around his shoulders and Dean figures that it’s about time they go back there. In fact, it’s about damn time that he gets _involved_ in this kiss.

When he kisses back, Dean deepens it, chasing after the taste that was on his lips. That’s the only way he knows how to at least try and return _some_ of the feeling that Cas is giving to him. He wants to make sure that Cas knows that one day he’ll be loved too. If possible, he wish he could say that he loved Cas too, but he doesn’t. He barely knows him. But one day he’ll be the Dean who _does_ love him, and he wants to make sure that Cas knows that. It might be a while yet before future him gets his shit together and says something. So, it only makes sense that Cas should have these memories for the time being.

How Cas loses his coat is beyond him, but it’s not long before that heavy trench coat is on the floor around their feet. Cas doesn’t seem to mind. He’s pretty busy with the kisses and he actually _helps_ with getting his belt undone and shrugging out of his suit jacket. As soon as the belt is out of the way, Dean goes for the striped tie. One of them turns them toward the bed and Dean thinks it might have been him, but he’s not entirely sure. Cas isn’t the only one being distracted by the kisses, after all.

By the time they manage to coordinate enough to fall back on the bed, Cas is down to his underwear and he’s stepping out of both his shoes, his socks, _and_ his pants. Dean still has his pants on, but Cas seems set on taking care of that. The only reason he stops kissing Dean’s lips is to start kissing down his neck and across his chest. He presses kisses in a kind of reverentway all down Dean’s stomach, hands working diligently to get his belt and pants open.

Every touch is just so fucking _tender_ that Dean is almost writhing under Cas’s hands. It doesn’t take him very long after his own pants are off before he’s dragging Cas right back up for more of those heated kisses, teeth catching at lips and tongue. He can’t get enough of them. As good as it felt having Cas’s lips on his stomach and trailing down his leg, Dean _really_ likes being able to practically taste the feelings behind each one.

*

The slide of skin against skin, even with their boxers in the way, is better than Castiel can ever remember receiving. This is - by far - the best thing he has ever experienced. Castiel would like to think that it’s because this is _Dean_. This is the man who will become the person he loves, and he still loves him regardless of that.

He loves him because even now, when Dean’s soul is familiar but still foreign to him as it is like this, Castiel can still feel it pulling at him with every breath that Dean takes. Even when Dean doesn’t know him, he still longs for him. It draws a moan from Castiel for the first time since he allowed himself to actually _kiss_ this young Dean. Right now he’s taking more than he ever should, but stopping himself is like trying to stop the apocalypse. It’s a near impossible task and he’s not sure that he can actually do it. How is he supposed to stop when this Dean is so ready and willing to kiss him and be loved by him?

This is a feeling that Castiel wants to covet. He wants to take it with him to remind himself that Dean does love him, even though neither of them is acting on it in their own time – in Castiel’s _proper_ time. These kisses will carry him through the long nights when he knows Dean is sleeping restlessly and won’t ask for Castiel to be at his side. The burden of Cain’s mark is something Dean wants to bear alone, and he won’t let Castiel or Sam help any more than they already are. He doesn’t want to risk hurting them.

As much as he understands that, Castiel still hates not being able to help _more_. Would letting Dean know that he is loved help him? Would the weight on his shoulders ease if he were to let Castiel lie next to him at night? Would Dean feel better physically and mentally if they held hands or kissed or touched like they’re doing now? It’s a long shot, but Castiel would be willing to try anything to help him.

His thoughts are interrupted when a hand slides down his back and fingers catch in the waistband of his boxers. It brings Castiel’s attention back with startling clarity to the very obvious directions his actions with Dean are heading right now. And he can’t help but wonder if the Dean waiting for him to return to the future would consider it a betrayal if Castiel slept with the person he once was?

With that one thought, guilt starts to taint these kisses and he is horribly reminded that this was never supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to kiss Dean, or even speak to him. And Castiel most certainly was never supposed to get _naked_ with him. He was only supposed to stop the demon that came back in time and then leave without being seen. But he _was_ seen, and now he needs to remove the memories of all of this. Once that is done, he needs to _leave_.

Castiel loathes that he has to do that. Most of all, he despises that he must leave this Dean, so desperate to be loved. He hates that he needs to leave him to the unfortunate fate that he knows is coming. But Castiel still can’t do this to Dean – the young one or the one in the future still waiting for him to come home. It wouldn’t be right.

This has gone too far and, regrettably, he must stop it.

*

Something’s wrong. Cas is still kissing him, but something is most definitely wrong. Oh God, he’s regretting this, isn’t he? Dean’s heart almost stops when Cas actually draws out of the kisses and starts pushing himself up. No, no, no, no, _no_. Cas is going to stop and he’s going to take his memories and Dean won’t remember that someone loves him. He’s going to be _alone_ again and he doesn’t want that. He wants anything _but_ that.

“Don’t –” He whispers, digging his fingers into Cas’s back to pull him back down. “Please don’t.” Dean hooks a leg over Cas’s hip and lifts his head to kiss him again. “We don’t have to go any further than this, I promise. Please don’t –”

“I know, Dean.” Cas cuts him off with a quiet murmur. His hands are on his face and in his hair again, fingers gentle and kisses soft. “I know.”

“Just a little longer. I just –” Just what? He doesn’t know but this is desperate and pathetic and Dean should be fucking ashamed of himself. It doesn’t stop him.

Cas covers his face in kisses, mumbling his name between each one. The last one lands on his lips and Dean almost wants to cry because he knows that they’ve reached the end.

“I love you, Dean.”

*

Dean’s nails bite into his skin briefly as his grip tightens almost painfully. He gasps into their final kiss and his back bows from the bed when the power of Castiel’s fading grace sparks through him. Castiel winces at how drained it leaves him feeling. It takes more concentration than ever to put Dean to sleep and his chest aches as his hands and leg fall to the bed with soft thumps. With Dean unconscious, it will be easier to sort through his memories and find the most recent ones.

If he had the strength for it, Castiel would pull the memories from Dean completely, but he’s used too much of his dying grace tonight – especially with exorcising the demon earlier. There just isn’t enough energy for it – especially if Castiel needs some power left to get back to his own time. The most that he is able to do now is gather the memories and break away a small piece of his grace to seal them away where they can never be reached.

He pulls back from Dean slowly and mourns the loss of skin against skin. Dean radiates heat from his body and his soul, and now Castiel needs to forget that he ever knew what it felt like. After a moment, he allows himself to be selfish just once more. He brushes the short strands of hair from Dean’s forehead and presses a kiss there.

“I would ask for your forgiveness, but I feel that you would not give it.” And even if he did, Castiel doubts that he could accept it. He took advantage of Dean and his loneliness tonight to satisfy himself. It was something he never should have done – even if he doesn’t fully regret it.

With a heavy heart, Castiel gets up from the bed to start getting dressed again. In the process, he spares a glance at the corpse on the other side of the room. He can’t decide if he’s amused or horrified that his first kiss with Dean was within a few feet of a dead body. It’s not romantic in the least, but it suits them and the lives they lead.

Seeing the body reminds Castiel that he can’t leave Dean like this. The door is broken and if anyone comes to investigate, they will find Dean in his underwear in the presence of a corpse. He’ll be incarcerated for murder at the very least. Sighing, Castiel picks up Dean’s clothing. Perhaps he can interfere for a little while longer. Dean will be sleeping through the night and he won’t notice the difference once Castiel is done.

First, Castiel locates the keys to the Impala. He makes sure that no one is watching through their windows or in the parking lot before he hides the demon’s body in the trunk of the car. That is, in fact, the easiest thing he needs to do. Dressing Dean is much harder. Castiel never thought it would be so difficult to dress someone while they’re unconscious. At least carrying him to the car isn’t nearly as hard.

Castiel clears all of Dean’s things out of the hotel room and packs them into the Impala too before he gets into the driver’s seat of the car and drives away. If he ever tells Dean about this time, he’ll be sure to omit that he drove the Impala. It’s possible Dean will accept that they kissed and laid together in a bed, but he would never accept that Castiel drove his baby. He has enough trouble trusting Castiel to drive the car that he has commandeered as his own.

Dean snores softly in the passenger seat while Castiel drives them out of town. He needs to find a place to hide the body in the trunk. The last thing he wants is for Dean to wake up and worry about why there’s a corpse in the back of his car. Hopefully Dean will be more understanding of why he fell asleep in his car if Castiel leaves him and the Impala in the parking lot of a bar.

He leaves Dean in the next town over and refuses himself a kiss goodbye. Castiel doesn’t look back over his shoulder as he leaves the Impala in the parking lot. All he takes with him is the corpse and he carries it far out of town. With his weakened grace, Castiel isn’t in much of a rush to get back to the future. He needs to recover before he can even think of finding the ingredients he’ll need for returning home. In the mean time, he can certainly take care of this for Dean now.

Hopefully he won’t be stuck in the past for _too_ long.

*

Castiel isn’t anywhere near the bunker when he finally arrives back in his own time. Despite the distance, that feeling of _longing_ pulls at him immediately. It’s the first thing he notices when he regains his senses after the confusion of passing through the time stream. That sensation has always been a constant in the background of his mind whenever he has the grace to sense it. When Castiel doesn’t, it was always torture not to be able to hear it.

This is _Dean’s_ longing. This is the feeling of his soul calling for Castiel to be at his side, just as it has for longer than he can remember. It feels like Dean has always wanted him there. But now it’s different. Something about Dean’s longing has _changed_. But how? Castiel is certain that he’s returned to the right timeline. Even his failing grace can tell that nothing has been changed by this endeavor. The only difference is Dean’s unconscious calling for him.

When he returns to the bunker not more than a few hours after he left it, Castiel finds Sam still sitting at the table where he left him. Dean must still be in his own bedroom and the both of them are researching ways to battle the Mark of Cain. Sam barely looks up from the book spread out in front of him when Castiel walks into the room. He says nothing as Castiel passes through the room to go check on Dean. Something must have happened for him to be calling so desperately for him – much the same as he did more than a decade ago – and he is _certain_ that it wasn’t anything like this before he left.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” He asks in passing.

“Not that I know of.” Sam muffles a yawn and runs a hand through his hair. “Dean never even left his room as far as I can tell.”

Interesting. Then what caused this change? “I’m going to check on him. Don’t forget to rest tonight.”

“I’ll be going soon. Just want to finish this chapter.” He breathes heavily through his nose with yet another yawn and stretches. “Make sure Dean does the same, okay?”

“I’ll remind him too.” Castiel ducks from the room with a final goodnight and makes his way through the halls to where Dean and Sam have chosen their bedrooms.

There are no lights coming from under Dean’s door and, from what he can tell, the room is silent inside. Maybe Dean is already sleeping? If he is, Castiel shouldn’t wake him. It’s rather hard for Dean to actually _rest_ when the Mark of Cain burns in his veins. Would he mind if Castiel only opened the door to peek into the room? Or would that be rude? Would it be better if he knocked? Dean has always stressed the importance of privacy and the only time he doesn’t complain when Castiel enters his room is if the door is already open.

But he really needs to check with Dean. This longing isn’t normal and it’s causing him worry. Castiel doesn’t like worrying. He resolves himself for being yelled at for waking Dean and reaches out to knock on the door. Immediately, there is a rustle of activity. It’s not the sound of someone who was sleeping. There’s the repeated thump of books hitting the floor, followed closely with muffled curses. The light doesn’t turn on, but Castiel can hear the pounding of feet on the floor before the door is thrown open.

If it opened into the hall, Castiel is fairly certain that the door would have narrowly missed hitting him. Luckily, it opens the other way, but it’s thrown open with such force that it bounces against the wall. He doesn’t even have the chance to be surprised. Before Castiel can ask what is wrong or if Dean is feeling alright, Dean has him by the collar of his shirt and he’s being propelled backwards. His back hits the wall and Castiel closes his eyes, fully expecting anything from a knife in the gut to a punch in the face. The Mark could be affecting Dean in any number of ways and he might be getting the brunt of it now.

In all honesty, the last thing Castiel is expecting is to have a hard body press up against his own, pinning him to the wall from shoulders to hips. And he most definitely is not prepared for a bruising kiss that steals his breath away. Questions bounce through Castiel’s fading grace and he grabs at Dean’s shoulders. Whether it’s to hold on or push him back, he isn’t exactly sure which. His memory of Dean’s young kisses are still so fresh and these kisses – these are the same, yet they are so profoundly different.

These aren’t the kisses that were filled with the desperation to be loved. These kisses are overflowing _with_ love and a desperation to _give it_.

When Dean pulls back to breathe, there’s a knowing look in his eyes. Castiel can do nothing more than stare at him, his lips tingling from the force of the kiss. He never thought he would get to kiss this Dean and his heart is thundering in his chest. Does Dean have his memories back? Did the grace fail? How did that happen? Better yet, _when_ did it happen? If he had the strength for it, Castiel would check to see if Dean truly does remember, but his thoughts are too caught up in wondering – what if Dean does have his memories back? How long has he had them and what has changed in this timeline because of it?

All his questions and even his very mind goes completely silent as Dean smiles at him. Not since before he got the Mark of Cain has Castiel seen him look so soft or hold such warmth in his eyes. It’s the kind of wanting look that made Castiel certain that Dean loved him back. He remains frozen in place, trapped under that smile as Dean leans their foreheads together and sighs softly. Even while standing this close together, he can’t stop staring.

Dean brings a hand to his cheek and his thumb sweeps across the skin in an exact mirror of what Castiel did over a decade ago. It feels so nice and in that moment, Castiel knows that he doesn’t need an answer. At least not right now. Dean remembers and he’s not mad. He loves Castiel and really, that’s all that matters to him now.

*

God, he’s been waiting for over a year to do that. He knew where Cas was going the moment that he told him he had to leave for a while and he didn’t know when he would be back. There hasn’t been very many moments in the last year where Cas has been gone somewhere without Dean knowing where he was. If it wasn’t for that damn striped tie, Dean might never have figured out exactly _when_ he would be going back.

When Cas came by a few hours earlier and said he had to go deal with a few demons and that he was something he could handle on his own, he had the tie on and Dean definitely remembers untying it from around his throat all those years ago. It was that moment when he knew what Cas was about to go do. If he could have, Dean would’ve told Cas the moment he got the memories last year. But how the hell was he ever supposed to explain how he knew what was going to happen? How was he ever supposed to explain that they were going to get nearly naked and emotional together?

If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, Cas ditched out just as things were about to start getting good. After a year of thinking about it, Dean definitely understands _why_ he did it, but he had to wait before he could even think of saying anything. He got the memories back after the Mark of Cain purged everything even remotely _grace-_ like out of him. At that time, there was so much shit going down that he couldn’t bring it up and tell Cas about it back then.

But now it’s different. Now they _both_ know what happened in that motel room. Best of all, Dean knows that Cas loves him. He’s said it in his own way so many times since Cas became family and he had no clue that Cas beat him to it by a decade. But he knows now. He knows and he’s going to fucking _do_ something about it.

Dean has been waiting fucking _months_ for the chance to say something. He’s been dying to be allowed to kiss Cas again and be allowed to actually touch him. All he needed was for Cas to get to this point too. Things are shitty now, but this – this is something Dean thinks they both need. And with the way things are going, he’s not going to wait until he loses the chance. He’s not going to wait until it’s too late for the both of them.

And there’s just one thing he needs to say now. One thing he’s wanted to hear again ever since the memories came back to him. They can sit down and talk about what this is going to change – if anything – later. Right now, there’s something he wants Cas to say again. And this time, Dean wants him to say it not to the person he used to be, but to the person he is now.

He cups Cas’s face between both his hands and brushes another kiss across his lips. “Again.” Dean can feel how Cas inhales sharply and the grip on his shoulders tightens. It makes him smile and he gives him another kiss, just because he can.

“Say it again, Cas.”

**END**


End file.
